Hired Killer
by goldieasj
Summary: The Kid's rash decision to take a despicable job angers Heyes and causes a rift between the two of them.


**Hired Killer**

**by Goldie**

* * *

One of the things that outlaws Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry appreciated most about their partnership was the empathy between them – the ability to know what the other was thinking, to feel what the other was feeling. More often than not, each was able to predict the other's actions merely by being in close proximity. Often one could (and did) speak for the other. A kind of invisible signal passed between them and was usually interpreted correctly. This special unity came about from their years growing up together and their years spent together as adults. It was born in a simple friendship that strengthened with time and need and had become downright formidable by the time they were in their late 20s. Much of their success as outlaws, and later going straight, was owed to this unspoken ability to communicate.

Heyes and Curry trusted each other's instincts, and were very fond of each other. After a separation of a couple of weeks, it was no surprise to find that Heyes was very happy to meet up with his friend once again.

It was, however, unusual that the reception he received from the Kid was cold.

As prearranged by telegraph, Kid Curry was waiting for his partner at the train station in Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Delighted at spying his friend immediately upon stepping from the train, Heyes said flippantly, "You know, these trains today are pretty nice. How could we ever have robbed them?"

"Shhh!" The Kid looked wildly around to make sure no one had overheard, and then whispered furiously, "What's the matter with you, Heyes? Someone could have heard you!"

"Good to see you, too, Kid!" Undeterred by his partner's grumpy mood, Heyes slapped him on the back.  
"But comfy or not, they're still dirty. Where's our hotel? I could use a hot bath."

"You want a drink," said the Kid, and shoved his partner in the direction of the nearest saloon.

"Thanks, anyhow, but what I really want right now is a hot relaxing . . ."

"You want a drink," repeated the Kid. He firmly pushed Heyes until his partner stopped resisting. Heyes entered the saloon with the Kid and followed him silently to a quiet table in the corner. At this time of day there wasn't much custom and, except for a few locals at the bar, they had the place to themselves. The Kid ordered two whiskeys and waited silently until the bartender had delivered them and walked out of earshot.

"There's a reason for this," said the Kid, downing his drink in one gulp.

Heyes wondered what he was referring to – the Kid manhandling him or the Kid's strong desire for whiskey in the middle of the day. Heyes marveled at this new hard-drinking habit his partner had picked up in his short absence. He tried intuitively to guess what the Kid was up to but decided not to second-guess him. Heyes sat silently, looking from his drink to his friend.

The Kid raised a finger to the bartender to bring another whiskey to him. He ventured a look at Heyes, guessing – correctly – that he would encounter a disparaging look. He pointed to Heyes's drink. "You're going to want to drink that."

"No, Kid," said Heyes steadily. "I'm not." He waited until the bartender had once again delivered a drink and disappeared. This time as he watched the Kid throw back the liquor he felt a twinge of alarm. "What's this all about, Kid?"

"There's a room for you at the Buffalo Hotel. Number four. Just down the street. Here's the key." The Kid took a key from his jacket pocket and threw it on the table toward his partner. Heyes stared at his friend without flinching. The Kid stared back at him. This was the first time that Heyes had a good look at his partner's face. It was unreadable. Heyes was astounded. He could see that there was a great deal of emotion behind the mask the Kid was putting on but he was unable to determine what it might be. Or what might be causing it. He fought back the anger he felt at being treated brusquely by someone he felt deep affection for and waited patiently, continuing to stare at the Kid.

When he did speak, Kid Curry said something that took Hannibal Heyes by complete surprise.

"I'm leaving now. Going north."

Heyes worked hard to keep his expression and his voice steady. "Why?" he asked in a monotone.

"I've got a job. It pays good and it won't take long. I should be back in a week. Maybe two." By this time, the Kid had discontinued staring at Heyes and suddenly seemed unable to look him in the eye at all. Now some of that emotion was becoming more apparent. Heyes read a kind of fear in his eyes. Not fear of anyone or anything but of something different – something almost ethereal. Fear of disappointing his partner, perhaps. Heyes began to understand why the Kid's reception of him was cold. As he thought about it, Heyes realized that there was more than fear. Something else . . . something . . . some kind of _distaste._ No, more than that.

Self-loathing. That was it.

But there was more, too, and Heyes couldn't pinpoint it.

Hannibal Heyes, the professional outlaw, was also a master at keeping his emotions hidden. But when it came to the Kid, his partner and best friend, he was always more of an open book. "What kind of job?" he asked, fear and suspicion creeping into his own voice.

Without looking at Heyes, the Kid signaled the bartender for another drink. Heyes quickly leaned over the table and knocked his hand down. The Kid looked at him, surprised. "I said, _what kind of job?" _It was clear Heyes would not be put off. His anger was beginning to surface.

Oddly enough, Kid Curry did not react to the attack with anger. He looked at Heyes for a moment, then answered, "Doesn't matter. It's just a job. I'll be back later."

"Can they use two good men? Can they use me?"

"No," said the Kid flatly. "This is for me alone. You'd be in the way."

"_Why_ would I be in the way, Kid? I'm asking you one more time – what kind of job is it?" Heyes's tone implied that he would take no more evasion. He stared at the Kid and there was no mistaking the emotion in his own face – anger, defiance, stubbornness. Apprehension.

Neither spoke for several seconds. Finally the Kid sighed and responded. "I met a man last week – someone who needs my . . . _skills._ I'm going north to Devlin for a while. To do a job for him. Shouldn't take long. When I'm done, I'll meet you back here."

"Your skills. _Your skills!"_ Heyes's fierce voice was barely above a whisper. His suspicions were confirmed. He sat staunchly upright in his chair, unable to move. The emotions were now completely readable on his face as the blood seemed to drain from his body. _"Your skills!" _he whispered again.

The Kid looked away. "I didn't expect you to like this," he said flatly, signaling the bartender again.

"_Like_ this?! Are you insane? You can't do this, Kid. _You can't do this!" _Heyes was beside himself with anger and fear and made no attempt to hide it. When the bartender delivered the Kid's drink, Heyes grabbed it from him and slammed it on the table. Undaunted, the Kid pulled some money from his pocket and paid the bartender as a form of recompense. Both waited to say anything further until the man had left.

The Kid began to speak, but Heyes interrupted him. "You can't do this, Kid! What's the matter with you? All we've done to work for those amnesties and you want to throw it all away?"

"I won't be doing that . . ."

"Your skills! Your skills with a gun, you mean! You're selling yourself as a hired gun, a cheap gunfighter, a . . . a . . . a hired killer!"

"No, there's more . . ."

"You'd hire yourself out as a paid _murderer?!"_

"Shut up for a minute, Heyes, and listen to me!" The tone of the Kid's voice commanded more attention than if he'd gotten physical. Fuming, Heyes stopped his tirade, deciding to give the Kid his chance to explain, marveling at the lack of anger in his partner when he felt so much himself.

"All right," the Kid continued. "I told you I met someone who needed my help. I got here a few days ago and played a little poker with a man named Dan Ruse. We got to know each other and he told me a story. A real interesting story about his son. Seems his son was killed a couple months ago by a _real _killer. The real thing_._"

Heyes was still fuming but the heart of the story was beginning to be evident to him and a new sense of dread kept his interest riveted.

The Kid continued. "There was a land war. Ruse owns ten thousand acres north of here and bought more land from a neighboring ranch. That rancher felt he was swindled and when Ruse sent his son over to talk it out, the rancher's son shot and killed him. No provocation. Ruse's son wasn't any kind of fast draw. But the rancher's son apparently has a reputation with a gun . . . "

"What's his name?"

"George Johnson."

"Never heard of him."

"Me, neither. But reputation or not, he's a hothead with a quick trigger finger. Ruse's son just wanted to talk with them, that's all. He meant no harm. And he got killed for his efforts. And Johnson's running free because it was a 'fair fight.'" It was apparent to Heyes that the Kid was emotionally charged over this issue. Heyes was well aware of the Kid's fundamental belief in fair play, and he knew that it was this basic personality trait that was causing the Kid to side with the "underdog."

But that didn't mean the Kid had to act on his beliefs. "What does this have to do with you?"

The Kid sighed and drank the last whiskey. "I think you know," he said.

"No," said Heyes icily. "Tell me."

"I'm going to pay the Johnson ranch a little visit. Have a 'talk' with George."

Heyes stared at his partner, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. He hesitated for a moment, then said, "That's very Biblical, Kid." He saw he had his partner's attention. "The Old Testament says 'an eye for an eye. . .' That's what you're talking about here, you know. You also know – at least I _thought_ so – that there's a better Testament than that one. The one that talks about forgiving your enemies. Turning the other cheek. _What's the matter with you, Kid? _You're not a hired killer. Never were! Why would you even consider doing this?"

The Kid's expression still remained stone-like. "I didn't expect you to like this," he repeated.

"_Why, Kid? Why?"_

"Heyes, you should have heard him. Ruse, I mean. He's so broke up about his son. He's not getting over it. He really loved that boy. Listening to him was like watching an actor on a stage. He went on and on about his son. I have to do something to help him. Whatever I can. I'm not a good listener. I only have one good skill I can use. And I promised him I'd use it."

"And he promised you he'd pay you," Heyes said drily.

"That's right – he's rich. He'll pay me. Aren't you tired of wondering where our next meal is coming from? He'll give me two thousand dollars when the job is done. That should make you happy. And what I'm going to do will make him happy. Everybody's happy."

"Except George Johnson. He'll be dead. At the hands of a hired killer. The_ real _thing."

"Well, look at the bright side, Heyes. It'll be a fair fight. Maybe I'll lose."

"Thanks, Kid. That cheers me up."

Heyes's sarcasm had run its course and the Kid was tired of parrying his verbal attacks. They both sat silently for a moment, each unwilling to look at the other. Heyes was deeply angry. The Kid was satisfied he had achieved his goal, but anguished over causing his partner pain. Nevertheless, he still believed strongly that he was right and he solidly believed that he had to do what he had promised. A promise to a friend must never be broken. The Kid understood why Heyes was having trouble with that idea now, even though it had always been fundamental to their own relationship. The Kid understood far more than his partner did at that point. God willing, Heyes would learn the whole story later. God willing.

After appearing to sulk for a short while, the Kid felt it was time to leave on his journey. The liquor was starting to do its job and he was feeling touchy. He knew he wouldn't have been able to convince his partner of the righteousness of his task, no matter what he did. It was best for him to leave as soon as possible. Before Heyes said or did something that might cause him to change his mind. He looked at Heyes, who was still staring at the table.

The Kid stood. "I'm leaving now," he said matter-of-factly. "Don't try to follow me. I mean that." He added the last part with a stern look.

But Heyes continued to stare at the table, scowling deeply. He did not venture to look at his partner as the Kid walked away. He growled, "Don't do this, Kid."

The Kid stopped and turned back to look at him.

"I'll be back soon," said Kid Curry with a hint of sadness in his voice. And then he left.

* * *

Hannibal Heyes was livid.

He continued to stare at the table for a couple of minutes, then suddenly jumped up and ran to the saloon door. His intention was to yell something at his partner, anything, anything that would make his annoyance clear. But he was met with a startling sight. The Kid and his horse disappearing over the horizon.

He had seen this very sight many times during his years with the Kid. But somehow this time it was different. This time there was no amicable parting, no lighthearted amusement planned for the future. There was no specific arrangement for rendezvous, except, of course, to meet up again in one or two weeks. And, of course, that may not happen. Given the circumstances.

Heyes did not yell anything. He fought down the impulse to ride after the Kid since he did not know what he would do when he caught up with him. He needed time to think. With dismay, Heyes stared at the point where he had seen the Kid disappear. He was infuriated and worried and felt completely helpless. He stood woodenly in the doorway for a moment. The plethora of emotions continued to cross his mind and he tried to push them aside, hoping to be able to think clearly. But some of them broke through, anyway.

Suddenly Heyes needed a drink more than anything in the world. He remembered the drink he had abandoned but could not face the prospect of returning to that saloon. He stormed out and entered the next saloon down the street. There he took a table in a dark corner and ordered a bottle, staring at it like he had stared at the table in the other place.

He allowed his thoughts to travel wherever they wanted. He wanted to start _thinking_ again, to be in control of his emotions, his life. By seeking a showdown, the Kid was toying with their amnesty. If he ruined it for himself, he would most likely ruin it for Heyes, too. This thought was maddening, especially after everything they had done in the last year to walk the straight and narrow, but at least it was something Heyes could live with. What he could not tolerate was the thought that the Kid might easily be killed at the hands of "a real killer." Heyes flip-flopped between feeling anger with the Kid and worry over him.

He could not see spending the rest of his life without his beloved friend.

This thought was the one that finally softened his anger. Taking his first and only drink from the bottle, Heyes resolved to do something to see that the Kid avoided this gunfight. He knew he would have to wait until the Kid settled into the ranch. He knew he would have to keep a low profile so as not to anger his partner. He thought back for a minute and remembered that the Kid hadn't really seemed angry at all; this struck him as odd but he didn't dwell on it.

He knew he would have to manipulate the Kid in such a way that it would be the Kid who would feel that a gunfight was ludicrous. He was not comfortable with the idea of manipulating his friend's feelings, but he excused his intentions as a matter of life or death.

Somehow he would have to stop this gunfight and somehow he would have to make it happen that the Kid felt it was his own idea.

Instinctively, Heyes knew he had some time since the Kid wasn't likely to move into the ranch and immediately rush out to the neighboring ranch to look for trouble. The Kid had seemed to like this man Ruse and he would most likely want to spend time talking with him first, maybe even discussing his strategy. A day, maybe two. And Devlin was, Heyes knew, two days' ride north.

Smiling, Heyes picked up his bottle and headed for his hotel. A scheme was beginning to form itself in his mind and he was proud of his ability to plan. A hot bath, just like he had wanted, and then a good meal. A drink or two from the bottle but not so much that he wouldn't be able to keep his wits about him. And then a good night's sleep. In the morning, an easy ride north. And then the plan.

* * *

It was afternoon of the second day's ride before Heyes pulled into the town of Devlin. The state was going through a drought and the trail had been hot and dusty. Heyes was cranky and uncomfortable but at least he was happy with the fact that he had a workable plan and even a backup plan. He checked in at one of the hotels and ordered a bath. 'Two baths in three days! Can't tell the Kid. He'll think I'm getting soft,' he thought to himself with a laugh.

After refreshing himself and dining, he attempted to get information from the hotel desk clerk. To make small talk, he asked about the nearest saloon and the possibility that poker might be played there. He was told that there was only one saloon in town and poker was limited to weekends. Then he cut to the quick and asked about Dan Ruse.

"Who?" asked the desk clerk, genuinely puzzled.

"Dan Ruse," Heyes repeated. "He's a rancher. Owns a big ranch – ten thousand acres – near here. North, I think."

The desk clerk shook his head. "No . . . I don't really know the name . . ."

"The Ruse ranch is near the Johnson ranch."

Now the desk clerk was completely perplexed. "The Johnson ranch? I don't know that one, either. You know, I thought I knew everyone who lived anywhere near here."

Heyes studied him for a moment. The man seemed to be telling the truth. But certainly he should have been aware of ranches of such grand acreage in the vicinity.

"Think again," said Heyes, handing him a coin. "There might be a land war going on between them. Maybe the ranches have different names, but those are the owners – Ruse and Johnson."

The desk clerk inspected the coin and then pushed it back toward Heyes. "Sorry, Mr. Smith. I'd help you if I could and I'd do it for free, but the sad fact is I just never heard of either of those folks."

Heyes concluded that the desk clerk was indeed telling the truth. Maybe the man never got out from behind that desk. Heyes picked up his coin and tipped his hat, thanking the clerk as he left. He used the one good piece of information he was able to glean and entered the nearby saloon.

There were very few patrons milling about at this early evening hour. Heyes walked up to the bar, handed some money to the bartender, and ordered a whiskey. As his glass was being poured, Heyes tried asking the bartender the same questions.

"Do you know where I can find the Ruse ranch? Dan Ruse?"

The bartender set the bottle back on the bar and eyed Heyes suspiciously. "The Ruse ranch, you say? Where's that supposed to be?"

"Well, I think it's . . ."

"You're new in town, aren't you?"

Heyes kept his smile but it was forced. "Will the answer to that question change your answer to mine?"

The sarcasm went over the bartender's head. "No Ruse ranch around here."

Heyes sighed. "Think again. It's ten thousand acres. Near the Johnson ranch. There is a kind of range war going on between the ranches."

"Never heard of either of 'em. Don't know of no range war, neither."

"I'm sure the ranches have names. But I don't know them. I just know the names of the owners – Ruse and Johnson."

Clearly the bartender was tiring of the subject. "Mister, I don't know of no ranchers around here with those names. And I know every living being in this whole county and most in the next. You want another whiskey?"

Heyes realized he hadn't touched his drink yet and the bartender was looking to move on. He threw back his whiskey and set his glass down. "I'll take another. All right, let me ask you something else. In the last day or so, did you see a stranger come in here with light hair? And wearing a brown sheepskin jacket?"

"You sure do ask a lot of questions, don't you? Maybe you should be talking to the Sheriff."

Heyes was unnerved by this. "There's no need for anyone to talk to the Sheriff. I figured I'd ask you since you look like an intelligent man who knows everything that goes on around here."

This arrow struck its target. "Well, you're right about that. You came to the right man. But I don't know of no ranchers with those names. And there ain't no ten thousand acre ranches around here, neither. Most everybody who lives around here lives on a ranch – lots of ranches in the county – but they're all small. No big spreads like that."

"What about the stranger with the light-colored hair?"

"No, nobody new in town except you in a month of Sun . . . Hey, wait a minute!"

Heyes's disappointment succumbed to a ray of hope. "What?"

"Ruse, you say?"

"Dan Ruse."

"You know, that name does sound familiar. Let me speculate a minute." The bartender rubbed his chin with his hand. "Seems to me I've heard that name . . ." Heyes waited patiently but the bartender did nothing except continue rubbing his chin. In a moment he looked past Heyes toward the door and said, "I just can't touch up with it, but here comes someone who can help you."

With bright new hope, Heyes turned quickly to the saloon door, only to turn just as quickly back to the bar. The man entering was the Sheriff.

The Sheriff walked right up to the bar and ordered a beer. "Hot today, ain't it, Dobbs?" he asked.

"Yep, Sheriff," said the bartender as he poured the beer. "But this'll help."

Being careful to screen his face from the Sheriff, Heyes mumbled something about having to leave and started to walk away. But the bartender made his peaceful exit impossible. "Sheriff," he said, "this here stranger's looking to find someone named Dan Ruse. I been tryin' but just can't recollect the name. But you know everyone around here."

The Sheriff put his hand on Heyes's shoulder and turned to face him. "Dan Ruse, you say?"

"Uh . . . yeah, Sheriff. Dan Ruse. Rancher hereabouts." Heyes covered part of his face with his hand but realized that the Sheriff's only interest in him was to help him. He relaxed a little.

"A rancher named Dan Ruse . . ." The Sheriff stared at the floor for a moment. Then he suddenly had a revelation. "You don't mean Danny Ruse, do you?"

Finally! "Could be, Sheriff. I guess so. Where's his ranch?"

This idea seemed to bring pleasure to the Sheriff. "What do you want with Danny anyhow?"

"A job, that's all, Sheriff, a job. Someone said his ranch was hiring."

"I don't think Danny's too likely to hire you."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because Danny Ruse doesn't even own a shack, yet alone a ranch. He's drunk most of the time, and poor all of the time. The only time he ever gets a square meal is when he's in my jail for disorderly conduct, which happens now and again. Him and that sometime friend of his, Wiley. They're two peas in a pod, two bad apples."

Heyes shook his head. "I don't think that's the same . . . "

"Oh, it's him, all right! Only Ruse anywhere around here. Couldn't recollect the name at first because I don't think much of him!"

Heyes's hopes were falling, but his curiosity was soaring. "He wouldn't be in jail right now, would he, Sheriff?"

"Nope. Haven't seen him lately. Maybe he's been behaving himself." The Sheriff laughed and looked at the bartender, who started laughing, too.

"Where can I find him?"

The Sheriff was intrigued. "You still want to see that no-account?"

"Not him, exactly. I'm trying to find a friend of mine who is with him."

"Hah! That's another laugh! Danny's plenty good at sweet-talking and story-telling, but he doesn't have many friends except Wiley. Always looking for a buck and trying to find someone to wangle it out of. He's a good liar, too. And he's got quite a temper. If your friend is a friend of Danny's, well . . . I think I'd choose my friends more carefully."

Heyes was getting impatient and beginning to worry about what the Kid had gotten himself into. "Where can I find him?" he repeated. The Sheriff told him what road to take out of town and where to turn off of it. He explained that Danny didn't have a home but he and Wiley tended to camp on the land of some generous soul who let them do it.

Heyes thanked the Sheriff and turned to leave the saloon. When he got to the door, he suddenly remembered something. "Sheriff," he said. "Rumor has it that Ruse's son got killed by a rancher named Johnson recently. Would you know anything about that?"

The Sheriff seemed to enjoy this even more than the rest of the conversation. "No rancher named Johnson in this county. No killing. And Ruse's never been married and got no son. I don't know where you're getting your information from, cowboy, but you're beating a dead horse on this one." He turned back to his beer and Heyes exited the saloon to the sound of the Sheriff and the bartender laughing.

Hannibal Heyes could not appreciate their joke. He knew that his friend Kid Curry could be in serious trouble. The Kid had been genuinely concerned about his newfound friend Dan Ruse and now it appeared that Ruse had been doing nothing but lying to him. But why? To what end?

The idea of returning to the hotel room to think crossed Heyes's mind but he dismissed it immediately. Something deep inside told him that this character Dan Ruse was a serious danger to the Kid, and that made him a mortal enemy. Heyes could not allow any more time than absolutely necessary lapse before hooking up with the Kid and warning him about the kind of a man he was thinking of as a 'friend.'

The motive that had brought Heyes to Devlin in the first place – his need to stop his partner from a needless gunfight that would endanger their amnesty quest – was now suddenly dissolved. In its place was a great fear of the unknown. Someone with a low reputation had wanted Kid Curry to come to Devlin and had lied to him to make sure he got there. Why?

Was it some kind of a trap?

Heyes was standing on the porch of his hotel and felt his knees buckle at that last thought. He sat suddenly in one of the rocking chairs on the porch.

It wasn't like the Kid to take off – alone – on any kind of a mission. He and Heyes usually did things together. This time the Kid had clearly felt . . . felt what? Heyes thought back to their conversation. The Kid's face hadn't exactly read like an open book. He might have been angry with himself, and he had seemed apprehensive. And some other emotion Heyes hadn't identified. Had he really felt that he was doing the right thing? Had he sensed a trap?

No, thought Heyes. If the idea of a trap had crossed his mind, he would certainly have brought it up and discussed the possibility. He was a simpler soul than that, leaving the scheming and distrust to his partner. No, the Kid had felt that someone had been treated badly and that he himself possessed the skills to put things right for the man. Heyes wasn't sure if the Kid had seemed to actually like this man Ruse at all, but it didn't matter. In the Kid's mind, Ruse had been dishonored and suffered a great loss, and for some reason the Kid believed it was his place to fix things.

But this made things worse. If indeed Ruse had been setting a trap for him, the Kid would be walking right into it. Heyes knew now that Ruse was a liar and a story-teller and this was valuable information that the Kid did not have. That the Kid might not even believe!

Although he knew it would be sunset in an hour or so, Heyes felt the need to find this man Ruse right away. He wasn't comfortable with a nighttime ride through an area he did not know, and particularly in search of a man he did not like or trust, but Heyes felt it was something he had to do to help his friend.

Weren't those almost the exact words the Kid had said about Ruse?

And if the Kid wasn't there, Heyes didn't like the odds of two to one. Ruse and Wiley. Against him.

* * *

Heyes left Devlin in search of the area Ruse was known to inhabit, following the Sheriff's instructions. He rode a couple of miles away from town, watching for the land formations the Sheriff told him to find. When he spotted the grove of oak trees in a pattern resembling a bullet, he turned off the road and rode east overland. Slowly, to circumvent any possible problems for his horse. The sun was beginning to set and he and his mount were both having trouble seeing clearly. Everything around him threw a spooky long shadow. Heyes felt a shiver run down his spine and he wasn't cold. He felt in his pocket for his matches. Then, without realizing it, he rested his hand on his gun as he rode.

Although he saw no signs of life, he knew he had to be close to a campsite because he smelled the distinct smell of the remains of a fire. The ashes smelled fairly recent – maybe one or two days old. Heyes tried to pinpoint the direction. The wind at that time of night was nonexistent so he was able to point his horse in the direction of the campfire smell. It unnerved him that there was no active fire in his vision. He would have much preferred the sight of his enemy to not knowing where he was.

Heyes lit a match and held it up as a visual aid. Nothing. It burned down to his glove. He lit another and continued on. The light from his third match revealed something promising: the campsite he wanted to both find and to avoid. He almost stumbled right into it.

Heyes dismounted and used his matches to look around. There was the old campfire with some half-burned logs still in it. There were some supplies scattered about, as well as a few empty food cans and other refuse. There were also two sleeping bags. He felt them: both cold. Heyes held his match high and was rewarded with the sight of an oil lamp hanging on a tree limb. He gratefully lit the oil lamp and pulled down the glass globe.

Now he could see. This thought was both comforting and unnerving. If he could see, someone also could see him. He resisted the temptation to take the oil lamp with him and left it hanging where it was. He moved away from the light and examined the campsite.

There were several signs of life here and indications that someone had been here recently. But there was absolutely nothing to indicate that it was the Kid; nothing here at all reminded Heyes of his partner.

There was no way of knowing whose campsite this was, but the Sheriff's description, the two sleeping bags, and the general messiness all pointed to Ruse and Wiley. It seemed to Heyes that they had not slept here for at least one night, maybe two, and so far they were not here for tonight, either. It was possible that the Kid had met up with one or both of them somewhere else, but it wasn't in town since the bartender said there hadn't been any strangers around lately.

But where? Heyes was perplexed and felt more than a little alarm. Sticking around didn't seem to be a very good idea, so Heyes grabbed his horse's reins and prepared to mount.

But suddenly his horse became skittish and sidestepped, not allowing him to mount. Instead of trying to calm him, Heyes took this as a danger sign and ducked behind the nearest tree. With the light from the lamp, Heyes watched his horse shake its head and snort and sidestep, all signs that something was bothering it. Heyes was mystified. He checked all around him, but saw no signs of life. Nor did he hear anything. What could possibly be bothering his horse?

Gun drawn, he slowly emerged from behind the tree. The horse was not bothered by the sight of him, but seemed to be shying away from something else. He approached the animal, being careful to avoid the hoofs that pounded the ground, and loosened the reins. The horse took off immediately, trotting for a ways and then stopping a number of yards away to look back at him.

Although it was about the last thing Heyes wanted to do, he forced himself to walk in the direction the horse was avoiding. He grabbed the lamp on the way and held it out in front of him. His gun was cocked and ready. He walked slowly, scouring the ground as well as the trees. At first he saw nothing unusual.

Then he saw it.

The body of a man lying face down in a pool of blood.

"Damn!" he hissed.

Quickly taking another look around to determine that he was alone, he set the lantern on the ground and kneeled down to turn over the body. The man appeared dead, but Heyes worked gently in case the man was still alive. When he saw the man's face, his heart raced.

Kid Curry!

It took Heyes a moment to recover from the shock of finding his partner in a pool of blood. As quickly as he could, he checked the Kid for a pulse. Mercifully there was a pulse, but it was weak. "Kid, Kid!" whispered Heyes. "What _happened_ to you?"

Holding his partner as gently as he could, he searched for the source of the blood but didn't have to look far. Both the front and back of the jacket had bloodstains at the shoulder area. Heyes pulled back the jacket far enough to examine the shoulder. He knew the Kid had been shot, and the bullet had gone straight through the shoulder and exited.

And it was also clear to Heyes that the Kid had been shot in the _back!_

"That bastard!" Heyes was referring to Dan Ruse, although he really had no idea who was responsible for his partner's condition. Heyes also had no idea if Dan Ruse or his crazy partner were still hanging around. Heyes was fairly certain he was alone with the Kid; he had seen and heard nothing amiss and even his horse was beginning gingerly to return to him. Dismissing possible personal danger, Heyes decided that the most important thing he needed to do was attend to the Kid. The wound was not life-threatening in the strict sense of the word, but Kid Curry had lost a great deal of blood. It seemed, thought Heyes, that the Kid had been shot at least a day ago. Maybe more!

As gently as he could manage, he half-carried and half-dragged his partner closer to the campsite. The campfire was dead but kindling and logs were available so he ignited a new fire. It was not a cold night but the fire, he knew, would provide a welcome relief from the dampness and would provide protection as well. The dryness of the materials caused an immediate flame.

Now Heyes was able to have a good look at his friend's wounds. There was a lot of dried blood on both the front and back of his shoulder. The jacket had been torn and a bullet hole was visible on both sides. Since this meant no poisonous bullet was still festering, Heyes breathed a sigh of relief. He removed his neckerchief and tried to remove some of the dried blood from the skin. In the process, he started up the bleeding again, but slowly. This caused him concern since it was obvious that the Kid had lost a lot of blood already. Heyes held the cloth in place to try to quell the new flow of blood.

Heyes sat perfectly still, holding his friend and applying pressure to the wound. He was certain that the Kid had been shot some time ago. Infection could be a serious danger. There were always dangers, it seemed.

The soft nearby whinny of his horse was a good sign that there was no danger lurking about and that his mount had ventured closer to the fire. Heyes spoke softly to him for reassurance. As he spoke, his words changed from words of reassurance to his horse to shallow words of support and comfort for the Kid. Heyes had intended to wait out the night using the fire as protection but a good look at the Kid told him that his friend was deathly pale. And he was still unconscious.

Heyes removed his glove and ran his hand softly over his partner's face. The two days' growth of beard told him that the usually impeccable Kid had not been able to shave for a while. Perhaps had been lying here with a bullet through his back for a night or two already. As he thought through what could have happened, Heyes's hand lingered on his friend's face. He looked at the even features with which he was so very familiar and felt a deep distress over the possibility that the Kid could die. The implication of this idea was so devastating that suddenly Heyes found it hard to breathe. He bit his lower lip to keep it steady and then pulled the Kid's open jacket tighter against the cooling night. He maintained his hold on the jacket lapel. This small contact affected Heyes tremendously. Memories of the good times they had shared all their lives flooded his head and were immediately replaced by visions of his friend dying. Once again this thought was so distressing that Heyes could hardly breathe. He burrowed his face into the Kid's jacket and tried hard to compose himself. In a moment, he stood up and ran his sleeve over his face. He could not fail his friend. Sentimentality would have to wait.

Heyes's plan had been to nurse the Kid's wound and keep him safe by the fire all night, then hoist him up on the horse and lead his mount into town at daybreak. In this plan, the Kid would awaken at some point and be able to balance himself on horseback. But now Heyes began to doubt that the Kid would even live until morning. After all, he had suffered a great blood loss. _This isn't working, _thought Heyes_. I've got to get him to a doctor. Tonight._

So a new plan was formulated.

Heyes grabbed the reins of his horse, a gentle mount, and pulled down until the animal kneeled. In this position Heyes was able to maneuver the Kid into the saddle. It was difficult but he was determined. The Kid's unconscious state did not allow him to be of any help, so Heyes jumped up behind him and held him steady. The horse was clearly uncomfortable with two riders and sidestepped until it got used to the idea. At one point, Heyes dropped one of the reins and had a difficult time retrieving it and holding on to his friend at the same time.

The ride out to the campsite from town had been fairly short, but the ride back to town seemed to take forever. Heyes had a very hard time keeping his unconscious friend from slipping out of the saddle, as well as holding a tight rein against the possibility that the horse would spook at something. The cloudless sky and half-phase moon helped guide him along the road. As he rode, Heyes spoke softly to the Kid, reassuring him again and again that everything was going to be all right. But Heyes knew the Kid could not hear him and he was really trying to reassure himself.

When he finally arrived back in the town, things were very dark and quiet except for the saloons. Heyes wanted as little attention as possible, so he continued riding until he saw a sign in front of a building that indicated a doctor's office. This looked promising as there was a light inside. He slid out of the saddle and reached up for the Kid. His arms had been weakened by the constant tight hold on the reins during his ride and he was unable to hold on to his friend. All he was able to do was break the Kid's fall from the horse.

"Sorry, Kid," groaned Heyes, for he had been bruised as a result but cared little for his own situation. His only thoughts were of Kid Curry.

Still on the ground, Heyes checked the Kid's shoulder. It had started bleeding again. This was worrisome but they were right outside a doctor's office. "Doctor!" yelled Heyes. "Doc! We need help!"

By the time the doctor came to the door, Heyes was on his feet and attempting to lift his partner. "We need help," Heyes repeated. "He's hurt, Doc."

The doctor did not hesitate.

* * *

Several hours later Hannibal Heyes suddenly startled himself into a wakeful state. He wondered what had caused his sudden awareness. He noted that it was now daylight and the clock on the fireplace mantle read 8:20.

Heyes rubbed his arm where the Kid had fallen on it a few hours earlier. He was sore but in a better state than his partner. Heyes rued the fact that he had fallen asleep for an hour or two. Too much on his mind. He'd received a lot of bad news from the doctor last night – a slow heartbeat, too much blood loss, unconscious too long, an infection . . .

Heyes was groggy but realized that he was hearing the low voice of the doctor in the next room. The doctor had apparently stayed with the Kid all night, speaking in low reassuring tones to his patient, even though he knew he wasn't being heard. Then Heyes realized what had awakened him prematurely. The doctor was calling his name!

Heyes stumbled – almost literally – out of bed and ran across the hall to his partner's bedside. There was the omnipresent doctor, still sitting in the chair by the bed, but this time instead of watching and attending to the Kid, he was talking to him! Gratefully Heyes watched his partner as he struggled to regain consciousness – blinking his eyes rapidly, coughing, groaning, twisting on the bed enough to cause the doctor to hold him down.

"Help me keep him quiet," said the doctor to Heyes, without looking at him.

Heyes was overjoyed that his partner finally was showing signs of life. Gladly he grabbed both the Kid's hands and held them taut. He felt the Kid resist him, unaware that he was with friends. Heyes himself tried to say something comforting but felt a lump in his throat and knew he wouldn't be able to talk without choking up, so he kept quiet. He watched the doctor as he looked into the Kid's eyes and dabbed at his shoulder and held his chest as he coughed and generally tried to make him as comfortable as possible as he awakened. Heyes's heart was as full as it could be; when he had gone to bed a couple of hours earlier, it was with the doctor's warnings echoing through his head. The Kid's recovery was far from a sure thing. Now he was going to be all right! Heyes squeezed his friend's hands and took a deep breath to gain control of his emotions.

In a moment, Kid Curry opened his eyes and saw the doctor. Even in a darkened room, the Kid squinted for a while. The doctor was still talking to him in a soothing voice. The Kid realized his hands were constrained and allowed his gaze to follow his arms up to Heyes's face. He was mildly surprised to see his partner. After all, they had parted last on less than amicable terms. The Kid opened his mouth to talk but was unable to say anything.

"Don't try to talk, Thaddeus," whispered Heyes. He was afraid to speak out loud. The Kid understood and gave him a weak smile.

Both silently looked at each other for a while. The doctor changed the dressing on the wound and tested such things as the Kid's temperature. Then he told Heyes to run and fetch the Sheriff.

Stunned, Heyes ignored him. "Who did this to you, Thaddeus?" he softly asked his partner.

"That's what we want to find out," said the doctor. "Go fetch the Sheriff."

"We don't need the Sheriff, Doc. I'm going to take care of this."

"For the last time, go get the Sheriff while I take care of your friend!"

Heyes had no intention of allowing the Sheriff to intervene, but it was beginning to be clear that he wasn't going to win this argument. The doctor's manner was stern, the Kid himself was shaking his head "no," and the doctor's wife had entered the room and was watching with her shawl pulled tightly.

"I'll go," she said. "He wants to stay with his friend, Henry." And before Heyes could do anything to stop her, she had left.

Heyes heard the doctor say, "You can't handle this yourself, son. You'll get yourself killed!" He heard, but his jaw was set and he only had eyes for his partner. "Who did this to you?" he repeated to the Kid. "Was it Ruse?"

"No," whispered the Kid. "I shot _him_." This startled Heyes. In his own mind, Danny Ruse was responsible for anything bad that happened to the Kid's health now and in the future.

Heyes sat on the edge of the bed. "_You _shot _Ruse?" _ The Kid nodded. "So who shot _you_?"

The Kid opened his mouth to speak but the doctor intervened and strongly suggested that it would be more worthwhile for them to wait for the Sheriff to arrive so the Kid would only have to go over it once.

With the doctor not looking, Heyes quietly mouthed the question again, but the Kid looked away and refused to answer.

_The Kid looked away! _This was the same attitude Heyes had encountered with his partner when he had met up with him in Cheyenne a few days earlier. Why on earth was he acting that way? What kind of hold did this Danny Ruse have over him, anyway? Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were close friends, and, as such, occasionally bickered and sometimes got downright angry at each other. But Heyes could not remember the Kid ever refusing to answer his questions or acting quite as stubbornly as he had since he met Danny Ruse.

"What's the matter with you, anyway?" Heyes asked testily, not really expecting an answer and not getting one. He angrily paced the room while waiting for the Sheriff, the doctor watching him intently and the Kid not venturing to look at him at all.

When the Sheriff finally showed up, Heyes was almost relieved. The doctor's wife had apparently filled him in on the details on the way over, for he went right to the bedside after a quick greeting to the doctor. When he saw Heyes standing on the other side of the room, he remembered their encounter in the saloon and asked him, "Is this the friend you were looking for?"

"That's right, Sheriff." Heyes's reply was curt. He was only interested in getting information, not giving it out.

The Sheriff stared at him for a moment longer, making Heyes mighty uncomfortable, then he sat on the chair by the bed that the doctor offered him. He wasted no more time. "Son," he said to the Kid, "the doc tells me you got shot in the back! Are you aware of that?"

The Kid briefly shook his head.

"Do you have any idea who did it?"

This time the Kid shook his head 'no.'

"Well, your friend says you've been involved with Danny Ruse lately. That right?"

The Kid allowed his eyes to sneak over to Heyes and he was dismayed to see his partner standing defiantly with his arms folded. "Yes," whispered the Kid.

"Do you think he did this to you? It's the kind of thing he'd do."

"No."

"Why are you so sure Ruse didn't do this to you?"

"I shot him."

This clearly startled the Sheriff but he tried not to show it. "What do you mean – you shot Ruse? If he's dead, where's the body?"

The Kid looked out the window. Talking was obviously difficult for him. He might have been indicating that he knew where the body was, or he might have been trying to avoid the question.

There was a moment's uncomfortable silence. Heyes thought he might be beginning to understand the Kid's hesitation to answer – he was ashamed.

"Son . . . ?"

But the Kid kept his head turned to the side and closed his eyes. The doctor took over. "Leave him alone, Sheriff. Let him rest. You can talk to him later if you need to."

The Sheriff sighed heavily and stood up. "All right," he said to no one in particular. "Guess I'll take a little ride out to the campsite and round up Ruse and Wiley and bring them in for questioning. If they're still alive."

Hannibal Heyes stepped forward. "I'm going with you, Sheriff." There was no mistaking his tone. He was _telling_ the Sheriff, not asking his permission, a dangerous thing to do.

The Sheriff stared at Heyes for a moment as if looking at him for the first time. "All right," he said. "But I'm not deputizin' you. You're along as a civilian, and you're to stay out of the way if there's trouble. Is that understood?"

The idea of answering flippantly with "That's always been my way, Sheriff" crossed Heyes's mind, but he was not in the mood. He was despondent and very angry, and not even too sure what he was angry about. He just shook his head. "Let's go."

"Hold your horses there." The Sheriff took a moment to inspect Kid Curry's gun, balancing it in his hand, checking for bullets, admiring it, and then counting the bullets in the gunbelt. He then asked for Heyes's own gun, inspecting it in the same way. "All right, now, let's go."

* * *

The ride to the campsite was not long and seemed somehow different to Heyes. Perhaps it was the broad daylight, or perhaps it was because he now knew that the Kid was safe. There was a small amount of chitchat between himself and the Sheriff (Sheriff Sloane, it turns out) and none of it concerned their mission. Heyes concluded that the Sheriff was short-sighted but all business.

Shortly before the place where Heyes remembered they had to turn off the road, the Sheriff turned down a long driveway. "We're stopping at the house first," he said. "I want a quick talk with Leona Hartfield – she's the owner of the land. Grandma Leona. She's got a heart of gold to let those two no-accounts camp here. Always been that way, soft, and everyone loves her. She's got a couple of her grandsons living with her now for protection."

This seemed reasonable to Heyes and he followed obediently. When they were dismounting, the Sheriff called out to Mrs. Hartfield, announcing his arrival. She came to the door with a towel in her hands.

"Gracious, Sheriff," she said. "You're just in time. I just took a couple of blueberry pies out of the oven."

"Thanks, Leona, but we're here on business." Sheriff Sloan went on to ask Mrs. Hartfield a number of questions, all pertaining to Ruse and Wiley. Have they given you any trouble lately (no), have you noticed if they've been here lately or not (I think I saw Wiley, but Danny was gone for a while), have you heard any gunshots in the last couple of days (yes, but they're always shooting up something). Heyes paid attention but believed he was learning nothing of use. And the smell of the pies was getting to him. He remembered he hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon. He was grateful when the Sheriff thanked Mrs. Hartfield and motioned to him to leave.

It was only a short ride to the campsite where the Sheriff knew Ruse and Wiley lived. Now that it was broad daylight, Heyes felt that he would have good luck looking for clues as to what happened to his partner. He and the Sheriff dismounted and each began their own investigation. The Sheriff started rummaging through the sleeping bags and other belongings. Heyes headed directly for the spot where he had found the Kid with the bullet in his back. He began to examine the ground but was momentarily overcome with the memories. In a minute, he was startled to hear the Sheriff's voice.

"There's been a recent campfire," the Sheriff called to him.

"That was me, Sheriff," Heyes answered brusquely, piqued at having his train of thought interrupted.

"Why'd you build a fire?"

"Protection. Warmth." Heyes wanted to think about the Kid, but now his thoughts traveled to Ruse and Wiley. This, he figured, was the source of his current anger. He ran his hand over the blood-stained ground. "You know, Sheriff, I don't think I've ever hated anyone as much as Dan Ruse." It sounded like a matter-of-fact statement but the Sheriff had no idea how much emotion was behind those words.

The Sheriff had apparently completed his rummage through the two men's belongings. He walked over to Heyes. "You say that," he said, "but you've never met Danny Ruse. He's a sweet-talker, all right. A real charmer. Danny Ruse could talk the wings off a moth. You seem like a reasonable man. Your friend probably is, too. Any idea what made him take up with Danny like that?"

Without actually looking, Heyes realized the Sheriff was staring at him intently. He didn't really want to have this conversation. "I told you, Sheriff . . ."

"No, you didn't."

Heyes ventured a look at the Sheriff. The man was unflappable. Heyes tried to remember exactly how much he had actually told the Sheriff. That conversation just didn't seem important right now. What Heyes knew for certain was that he himself would not have been taken in by Dan Ruse's pleas for help. A complete stranger . . . with a silver tongue. It sounded familiar. But Heyes knew the Kid had a heart of gold. He would have fallen for it. He would have wanted to help this complete stranger. One of the Kid's qualities that Heyes was fond of, in fact. He couldn't recall the conversation he had with the Sheriff, but he vividly recalled every word that passed between him and his partner at that saloon in Cheyenne. The memory still depressed and angered him.

As steadily as he could manage, Heyes said, "It was for a job, Sheriff. Ruse told him he was a rancher and needed help." He had to look away before he added, "My friend believed him."

If Sheriff Sloan picked up on the emotion hidden behind Heyes's words, he didn't show it. He simply shook his head knowingly and then said, "Let's keep looking here."

The Sheriff bent over to examine the blood on the ground but Heyes couldn't stand being near it any more. He moved away. He began to reason out what might have happened. The Kid said it had been him who had shot Danny Ruse. It had been a difficult admission for him, so it was probably true. Or at least he _thought _ he had shot Danny. If he had shot anyone, it would have been before he was shot himself. Heyes tried to remember the position he had found the Kid in. The Kid had would have been knocked forward by the bullet. Heyes reasoned out the direction his partner had been facing when he had been hit and moved forward from there. This took him to the edge of the clearing. There he stopped, harboring a feeling of dread. Something was very wrong.

Something felt wrong. Something _smelled_ wrong. Something . . .

Heyes ventured into the trees a short distance. On the ground was the body of a man. He was lying on his back and appeared to be dead. There was a great deal of blood on the front of his shirt. Heyes did not recognize the man but had a pretty good idea who it was.

He was unaware that the Sheriff had followed his train of thought and was standing right beside him.

"That's Dan Ruse, all right," said the Sheriff. He bent down and felt for a pulse. He opened the shirt gently, a difficult task since the blood had long since dried. "Shot right through the heart," he said with a low whistle. He checked Ruse's gun and discovered that only one bullet was missing. He stood back up and spoke in what seemed to be an admiring voice. "Your friend shot him right through the heart. That's straight shooting, all right."

Heyes sighed deeply, still staring down at the body. He was glad to see the man who was responsible for his partner's condition lying dead on the ground. There was some gratification in that. But there would be no chance for revenge. There would be no talking with him, no finding out what motivated him to lie to the Kid and lure him out here, away from the safety of the city. Why did he hate the Kid? And why had he pretended to like him, pretending so well, in fact, that the Kid never suspected a thing? A fresh wave of revulsion washed over Heyes, momentarily immobilizing him. Jed Curry, a genuinely _good_ person, lying on the ground in a pool of blood and almost dying because of this . . . this . . .

"You all right, son?" The Sheriff's voice startled Heyes. He nodded.

"Well," the Sheriff continued, "if your friend Jones shot Ruse, I guess we better figure out who shot Jones. Because he was shot in the back. And Ruse was standing by this tree, in front of him." He moved away.

Heyes nodded again. Danny Ruse didn't shoot the Kid. But Danny Ruse was responsible for the pain and suffering he had caused to the Kid.

And to Heyes.

For a while, Heyes continued to look at the dead man. He was probably around 35 years old but with a young-looking face. Straight, light hair, longish and unkempt. The start of a beard. Pleasant, even features. His eyes were closed but Heyes guessed they were blue. Altogether a pleasant, carefree appearance, something that anyone would have found agreeable. Heyes tried to imagine how it happened – how Kid Curry was taken in so easily by this man. The Kid had probably been playing poker or drinking alone at a table listening to the saloon's musician. Killing time while waiting for Heyes himself to return. Killing . . . time . . . Then Danny Ruse latched onto him – why him? – and poured out that cock-and-bull story about having a son who was killed . . . killed . . .

. . . And Ruse had a partner named Wiley . . .

Heyes turned abruptly to look at the Sheriff, who was walking in the opposite direction to the other side of the clearing.

"That's it, Sheriff!" Heyes called. The Sheriff turned to look at him wonderingly. "It was Wiley who shot Thaddeus!" Heyes walked quickly back to the spot where the Kid had lain unconscious. He pointed to the ground. "This is where I found my friend and that's where Ruse was killed." He pointed in the direction of Ruse's body. Then he pointed exactly to where the Sheriff was standing. "And _that's_ where Wiley was standing!" He rushed over to the Sheriff and entered the woods.

He was right. Just beyond the trees edging the clearing lay the body of a man. A man maybe 40 years of age, with graying brown hair and a full beard. And lying in a pool of blood.

"Wiley?"

"Wiley." The Sheriff bent down and examined the body, as he had examined Ruse's body. He checked the gun. One bullet spent also. He sighed.

Heyes looked at Wiley with disdain. It was all clear to him now. For some reason, Ruse had decided to lure the Kid to this very spot to kill him. Maybe he wanted to kill him back in Cheyenne, but he needed his partner Wiley to help him with this onerous task. He returned here ahead of the Kid and had it all planned with Wiley. They knew when to expect the Kid and they lay in wait for him, one hidden on one side of the clearing and one on the other. They planned to catch him in a crossfire. But somehow the Kid foiled their plans. Perhaps they didn't reckon on his speed with a gun. Something must have alerted the Kid to danger and he shot at and killed Ruse while Ruse was apparently shooting at him. Ruse's bullet hit Wiley instead and killed him. An accident. But Wiley's gun . . . it was Wiley's bullet that almost killed Kid Curry.

They both had planned on shooting the Kid – double coverage.

"Double coverage," said the Sheriff thoughtfully, startling Heyes. "Looks like Ruse and Wiley wanted to catch your friend in the middle with both guns, but he wasn't in the right position. Looks like it was only Wiley who got to him. Wiley here was shot by Ruse. Look here – you can tell that the bullet came from way across the clearing. We'll have these bullets dug out and measure the calibers because we've got three different guns involved, but I believe that's what we'll find."

Heyes already knew that's what happened. He just didn't know why.

Or at least he wasn't going to tell the Sheriff what he thought.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Heyes and the Kid found themselves alone together. The Sheriff had returned with Heyes and had questioned the Kid again, but the Kid only reiterated what he had said earlier, seemingly knowing nothing more. The Sheriff tried the same questions from several different angles but always got the same responses. He left, satisfied that Thaddeus believed he had shot Dan Ruse and that he himself was shot in the back by someone else – apparently Ruse's partner Wiley. That meant, of course, that Wiley was killed by Ruse's bullet. The Sheriff went to leave instructions for the undertaker to save the bullets he dug out of the dead men.

While the Sheriff had been questioning the Kid, Heyes had stood dutifully by. He knew the Kid wouldn't, or perhaps couldn't, divulge incriminating information, but still he watched attentively. When the Sheriff had left, Heyes was most anxious to talk with the Kid but couldn't bring himself to say anything at first. He was – in fact, they both were – painfully aware that the last two times they had been together had led to unpleasant words. There was an awkward silence at first. Heyes tried to depend on that close empathy they shared for some sort of signal that things were right between them, but got nothing. The Kid avoided looking at his partner and once again Heyes was piqued at being ignored. But now he fully understood what had happened and he thought he understood why the Kid was acting the way he was. Kid Curry was a very proud man. His skills with a gun were immense. He had traveled to Destin to use those skills to help out a man he felt needed his help, and he had ended up killing that man with those very same skills. Heyes finally came to the full realization that the Kid was saddened by what he had been forced to do and embarrassed by being so very wrong about something he had felt strongly about. It was difficult for Heyes to fully grasp, for he believed that he himself would not have made the same mistakes. But then he berated himself for being smug. In so very many ways, he thought, Kid Curry was a better man than him. His focus had changed. As the drama at the campsite had unfolded before him, his attitude began slowly to alter from one of anger to one of understanding and support.

This softening of his anger was also caused by his deep fondness for the Kid, an underlying current in all their interactions for years.

After the uncomfortable silence, Heyes finally began to speak. He was interrupted by the Kid.

"I don't want to hear it, Heyes," said Kid Curry, with his face still turned away. "Just go away. Please."

Heyes didn't move. The Kid's attitude was not totally unexpected. Heyes knew that the Kid had not had time to digest all that had happened to him and he probably remembered all too well the angry words that had been exchanged between them lately. Now Heyes began to feel the anger welling up within him again – but this time it was directed at himself for having been responsible for the Kid's depression. Didn't the Kid have enough grief without thinking his partner wasn't behind him? Heyes hesitated while he tried to find the right things to say. There was another moment of silence. Then slowly Kid Curry turned his head to look once again at his partner Hannibal Heyes. "Do you think I did the right thing?" he ventured.

Heyes nodded in support. "I do now. I was wrong for being angry with you before. I should have backed you like always. You knew what you were doing."

"No . . . I meant . . . killing Ruse."

Heyes was visibly shaken by this. "Killing Ruse! What was the alternative, Kid? Dying?"

The Kid closed his eyes and didn't answer.

Heyes immediately regretted his outburst. Once again he tried to visualize what the Kid was going through, what he went through at the critical moment. He discovered that he couldn't – it was too painful to speculate on. He had to find out once and for all what really happened. Heyes looked around to be sure they weren't being overheard. He sat on the bed, lowering his voice to a whisper and asking what _really _happened.

The Kid's responses were curt and unemotional to the Sheriff's queries. Now, however, that his partner was asking him the same questions, the Kid found himself working hard to control a wave of strong emotion that washed over him. Heyes gently laid his hand on the Kid's good arm and waited patiently for his partner to speak. He could tell his friend was having a hard time. When the Kid finally opened his eyes, there were tears in them.

"I went there like he asked," whispered the Kid. "But there was no ranch – nothing looked like he described it. Thought maybe I had the wrong place. Then I saw him. He was standing behind a tree to my left. He was aiming his gun at me." The Kid couldn't go on.

Heyes gave his arm a squeeze. "He recognized you in Cheyenne, didn't he?"

The Kid nodded and took a deep breath. This caused his shoulder to hurt and he grimaced in pain. It was a moment before he could speak again. During this moment Heyes found himself deeply distressed by what his partner had gone through. Once again his hatred for Dan Ruse threatened to take over.

"He called me by name. Said he'd seen my fast draw . . ."

"Take it easy, Kid," Heyes cajoled.

"Said he was going to take me in dead, not alive." The Kid took another uneven breath in an attempt to steady his nerves.

"I get the picture. You don't have . . ." The Kid's ordeal was affecting Heyes as well.

"I had no choice, Heyes. I had to shoot him." Kid Curry was miserable. The friend he thought had been wronged . . . the man he had tried to help . . .

This was the man he had killed.

Heyes looked down as the Kid turned his face to the window and set his jaw. After a moment, he was able to speak again. "I saw him go down but I was hit from behind. He had someone else waiting for me. I didn't know there was anyone else. That's all I remember." His voice was steady but he kept his face turned to the window to hide his emotion.

Heyes sighed heavily. He ran his hands over his face and allowed them to remain there. His friend needed help. He had saved him physically but now he needed to do something for his feelings – for his heart. And there was so much pain . . .

But there was one more question that had to be answered before he could decide what to say. Heyes waited a respectable moment, then asked, "Why did you go in the first place, Kid?"

Kid Curry's voice was small. "I told you . . . "

"No, Kid, it doesn't add up." Heyes spoke as gently as he could, but he could not hide his belief that the Kid was keeping something from him. They had always been partners, as far back as both could remember. They had been friends and had always depended upon one another. Each had always been there to help the other. Each knew when the other was hiding something. And Heyes knew that his partner was hiding something from him now. Something important. "Tell me."

It almost didn't seem possible that the Kid could look more miserable than he had, but Heyes detected a slight change in his friend's features that indicated an even deeper distress. It was another moment before the Kid could speak again.

"I had to get him out of town."

"Why?"

Another pause. "If he saw us together . . . In case he knew . . . "

Heyes started at that. Then the Kid _had_ suspected a trap! And he went anyway! Willingly! He wanted to help this man who seemed to need his help but in case it was a trap he wanted to make sure this trap did not also include Heyes!

Kid Curry had sacrificed himself for his partner.

* * *

One of the things that outlaws Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry appreciated most about their partnership was the empathy between them – the ability to know what the other was thinking, to feel what the other was feeling. A kind of invisible signal passed between them and was usually interpreted correctly. Much of their success as outlaws, and later going straight, was owed to this unspoken ability to communicate.

But occasionally – every once in a great while – something unpredictable happened that caused a temporary failure in this invisible signal. Sometimes it was something absolutely extraordinary.

And after those rare occasions when this unthinkable rift happened, the partnership between outlaws Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes, this beautiful friendship, could do nothing but benefit. Even separated by distance, the closeness the two of them shared was a force to reckon with.

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_Disclaimer:__ All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended_.

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